


Lingering Fascination

by olivejuice28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, EWE, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, HEA, Pining, Post-War, coworkers to friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25486603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivejuice28/pseuds/olivejuice28
Summary: Hermione realizes her interest in a certain wizard didn't disappear when their school days ended, and wonders what to do about it now that fate has crossed their paths again.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 32
Kudos: 228





	Lingering Fascination

She’d always felt inexplicably drawn to him, even when he’d been an arrogant bully. Something about him, something glinting just beneath his perfectly polished surface had always intrigued her. She’d observed him more times than she could count across the Great Hall, or in class, or on the Quidditch Pitch, or in the corridors, always very discreetly and never when he was close enough to catch her. She had a million questions about his life and what made him tick; wondered incessantly about his interests and experiences, but all her obsessive dwelling came to a screeching halt every time he opened his mouth to speak. Those piercing, intelligent eyes, that shockingly white hair, those aristocratic features – all the pretty packaging marred by the obnoxious vitriol he constantly spewed. During her early years at Hogwarts she could honestly say she despised him, and that her infatuation spawned from an innate need to figure out what caused him to be such a bigoted prat, and why he held her in such disdain. Just _once_ she wanted him to take note of something she’d accomplished and be forced to admit that she was equally as powerful and magically gifted as anyone else in the school. Of course, that never happened.

As the years passed however, her compulsion towards whatever lay below the carefully constructed veneer of Pureblood supremacy had far less to do with wanting to prove herself to him, and everything to do with the horrors she suspected he was subjected to due to his family’s allegiance. She grew concerned for him, but kept her worries to herself since her friends would never understand, nor would they care. Tensions grew, the war waged on, and thoughts of the pale blonde were relegated to the back corner of her mind as plans for destroying the horcruxes and merely staying alive took every ounce of brain power she possessed. That day at the Manor, that horrible, infamous, nightmarish day, she’d seen him standing beside his mother, his hands clenched so tightly in fists she thought he’d break his own fingers. His eyes had been wide and filled with terror, and as she’d screamed and writhed on the floor under his sadistic aunt, a look of genuine grief and utter hopelessness had crossed his face. It was the first time she felt like she’d seen the real him.

After his trial, which they had all spoken at and earned him an acquittal in the end, he’d disappeared for a few years. She’d heard he’d gone to Italy to earn a Potions Mastery, but that was all anyone knew. After sitting for her N.E.W.T.s, she’d taken a position as a research analyst in the Ministry’s Department of Archives. While most of the employees there spent their days cataloging ancient parchments and dusty tomes, a handful of analysts were given specific projects in cooperation with other departments. Just last month she’d spent the better portion of two weeks assisting a completely frazzled witch in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. An odd assortment of items had been brought in together; apparently having been purchased at a neighborhood rummage sale; and none of them worked properly. A hair dryer that puffed colored smoke or glitter depending on which setting was used, a coffee maker that only produced what appeared to be orange jello, a hand mixer whose beaters went all floppy when put in contact with whatever substance needed to be whipped, and a cheese grater that screamed when put to use. She’d taken copious notes, read all the reports, and delved into the endless supply of texts on the subject where she was able to come up with a combination spell that set everything back to rights. Everyone had been very pleased with the results and she took the cheese grater home, where it no longer protested garnishing dinner.

While Hermione enjoyed helping out in other departments and working on special projects, she truly loved the hours she was able to spend digging through the stacks of scrolls, unearthing academic treasures, and comparing notes between magical works. She’d been in her element for a little over a fortnight when her boss summoned her and she knew her blissful solitude was about to be disrupted once again. No matter, she hummed lightly to herself as she made her way to his office, assuming it would be another fairly straight-forward case that she could solve in a timely fashion, and then return to her office and the sanctuary it provided.

She was sorely mistaken. Her boss handed a dauntingly-thick file to her before she’d even sat down, and immediately launched into an explanation regarding new potions regulations, a specific project St. Mungo’s had requested their help with, and a projected timeline of three to six months for it to be completed. While that wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting or wanting to hear, it wasn’t the end of the world and she assured her employer that she was positive they’d be able to sort it out just fine. She asked who she would be assisting in the Potions Department, and that’s when the other proverbial shoe dropped.

Normally quite adept at hiding her reactions behind a look of polite interest, Hermione knew her eyes were as round as saucers and her mouth gaping like a cod fish when the name _Draco Malfoy_ floated out to her. He was back in Britain, apparently. Not only that, but he’d been hired on at the Ministry. When? How? Why hadn’t she heard anything before now? Wrangling her thoughts and schooling her shocked features, she admitted to her boss that she was surprised, but that she was still convinced they’d be able to complete the assignment forthwith. He nodded firmly and offered to step in if any problems arose. She thanked him, but said she really didn’t think that would be necessary, before gathering the over-stuffed file and heading back to her own space. She closed her door and cast silencing a locking charms before giving in to the rising panic she’d tamped down ever since registering what her boss was saying.

She paced around her small office, mumbling to herself and wringing her hands. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was having this little come-apart; it wasn’t as if she and Malfoy had ever _been_ anything, or had anything between them, and while he used to be an absolute arse when they were children, surely he wasn’t such a pompous git now. Not after everything, right? Surely he would have grown up….at least a little? Flashes of pale blonde hair and slate-grey eyes invaded her mind and her heart felt like it was trying to climb up her throat. There was no reason for it, she knew that full well, but she couldn’t help feeling like something had been left unresolved between them, and the thought of facing him again was more than a little intimidating. What would he think of her? How would he react? Why did it matter so much? She heaved a great sigh and stared up at her ceiling, as if the explanation for her bizarre behavior could be found written on its plain white surface. Squaring her shoulders and stopping her mini panic attack, she resolved to take the case file home over the weekend, give it a thorough going-over, and then march herself to her new co-worker’s office first thing Monday morning with a smile on her face and an optimistic outlook in her mind.

ooOoo

He was even more handsome than she remembered. Granted, it had been a little over three years since she’d seen him, and that last glimpse had been of him leaving the courtroom after his trial, when the ravages of his recent circumstances were still painfully obvious. The dark circles under his eyes and unhealthy greyish tinge of his skin, his sunken cheeks and prominent collarbone, the way his robes hung off his too-thin frame, random bruises and scars and marks from dark curses; all of it horrible proof that neither side had emerged unscathed. Her heart had ached for him that day as an overwhelming and completely confusing urge to run to him, to fling her arms around him and promise that everything would be better now, had washed over her. She didn’t act on it, of course, but it didn’t stop the silent tears from trickling down her cheeks as she made her way out of the Ministry and back to Grimmauld, where Harry kept glancing at her with a far-too-understanding look. In the months that followed, she thought of him often and wondered if he’d finally been able to rest and heal, to find some semblance of peace after the horrors he’d endured. She hoped so.

The man that stood before her now bore virtually no similarity to the boy she once knew. He was taller, and while still lean and athletically built, no longer emaciated. His signature white-blonde hair was shorter than it had been, but hung artfully over his brow, which was arched in cautious curiosity when he registered it was she who had walked through his door. He got up from his seat behind his desk, his slate-grey eyes never leaving her face as she strode across the carpet and stopped beside the chair across from him. She forced her typical, confident, professional air to remain intact even though her heart was pounding and her stomach felt like it was full of Luna’s fluttering Wrackspurts. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips; it was so very good to see him again, whole and healthy and obviously doing well, if the opulence of his office and the perfect fit of his tailor-made suit was any indication.

“Hello, Malfoy,” she offered by way of greeting, extending her hand, which he took without hesitation and she refused to think about how nice and warm his grasp was. After letting go, she clasped her hands in front of her and gave a small shrug, “I’m told we’re to be partners for the St. Mungo’s project.” She studied his reaction closely and noticed a flicker of something in those granite pools before he blinked and nodded once, a small smile inching across his face as he indicated she should sit. As they both settled in, he spoke.

“I knew I’d be getting some sort of help from the research department, but I didn’t realize I ranked high enough to get their top analyst,” his voice was lower than she recalled, but what she noticed even more was the complete lack of sneering derision in his tone. It was simply conversational, friendly even, if the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth was any indication. Her cheeks flushed before she could stop them and she felt like a schoolgirl blushing over a silly compliment as she dropped her gaze to her lap and cleared her throat in an attempt to get herself together.

“I don’t know about that,” she mumbled but his soft chuckle snapped her attention back up to his face, where she found him watching her with obvious amusement. She cocked her head in question and he shook his own and huffed a light breath.

“I might have gone off the map for a bit, but that doesn’t meant I didn’t still get news from home,” he began as he leaned forward, crossing his arms on his desk and observing her so intently it made heat crawl up the back of her neck and sent her pulse skyrocketing. “I’ve heard all about the advancements you’ve made over the last two and a half years, and if rumor is to be believed, you’re next in line for Department Head, which would make you the youngest by about forty years, and the first witch to ever be granted that title.” His piercing stare held a challenge, asking her to refute his claim, but it also seemed to contain a bit of, dare she think it, admiration? That thought sent her stomach swooping and she knew she needed to compose herself if she was ever going to accomplish anything, so she shrugged lightly and gave him a small but genuine smile.

“I’ve never been one to sit back and coast along. Perhaps they’re just not used to people having much ambition or drive around here.”

He chuckled again and it warmed her from her curls to her toes. “Perhaps they’re not,” he conceded, looking thoughtful for a moment before seeming to snap back to the task at hand. “So, where do we begin?”

The next several hours found the former rivals in deep, animated conversation regarding the new potions regulations and how they might best collaborate their efforts to meet the needs of the local Wizarding hospital. Suggestions regarding the use of different ingredients, questions about previous legislation, and ideas for entirely new compounds were tossed about. The atmosphere remained amicable throughout, and the longer they spoke, the more comfortable she became in his presence. By the time Hermione stood to return to her office, she felt as if she’d known this friendly, polite, mature version of Draco Malfoy for years, while at the same time wondering if she’d just discovered an entirely new species – one that had filled her with the familiar, insistent desire to learn more. Much more.

He invited her to join him in the labs the following day, and she was more than a little excited to accept. For starters, she’d never had a reason to visit the Ministry’s potions department and was vastly curious about its inner workings, but the bigger reason (which she knew she’d be lying to herself if she tried to deny) resided in her renewed fascination with her new partner. One that was growing at an alarming rate after having only spent a few hours in his presence. She fell asleep the night after their first encounter with his pewter gaze firmly fixed in her brain, and spent more time than she cared to admit trying to decide what to wear the next morning. Chastising herself for being ridiculous, she gave up attempting to tame her chaotic curls and refused to give herself yet another once-over in the mirror before leaving for the office.

Her tour of the lab was impressive, to say the least, and while she soaked up every detail and cataloged every bit of information imparted to her, her attention time and time again drifted to the wizard beside her. He was quiet, but not aloof; serious, but not condescending. He was so vastly different from the Malfoy she used to know, and she distinctly felt he was treading very carefully with her. He answered her endless questions politely and comprehensively, and didn’t make a single snide remark about her appearance, or her annoying, bookish tendencies, or give any indication that he held any negative opinions about her at all. In fact, childish as it might have been, she intentionally baited him with a question about the work of a renowned potioneer who was a Muggleborn, and his tone when responding was just as professional as it was during all other points of discussion. Several times throughout their tour of the facilities she felt his eyes on her, but whenever she glanced his way she found him studiously avoiding her gaze, though he’d been unable to hide the beginnings of a grin once or twice, and the cough he forced out did nothing to cover up the snicker that had escaped after one of her more flippant comments. By the end of their time, she had no doubt that they would be able to work perfectly well together, though she wondered if he’d ever completely let down his guard. Hermione was nothing if not entirely, unashamedly herself around others and didn’t have much in the way of a filter or a need for formalities, so as soon as it was clear that Malfoy was not harboring any animosity or prejudices from their earlier years, she jumped right into treating him the same way she did all her other coworkers and friends.

ooOoo

The weeks passed in a flurry of activity. By way of expedience, they had decided to use his office as their home base, since he was located on the floor above the labs and had direct floo access there. He’d surprised her the third day of their partnership with a desk of her own, positioned in an “L” shape from his, so she could easily see whatever parchment and scrolls he had spread across his work surface. The new piece of furniture was exactly the same as his; just as large and ornately carved, made from the same dark, polished wood, and accompanied by a lovely, upholstered chair on wheels that made the metal-and-fake-leather one back in her own office seem vastly insufficient. Her eyes had flown wide when she’d spotted the extravagant pieces, a beaming smile spreading across her face as she turned to meet his anxious expression. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” she gestured to her new domain. He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but she could tell he was gauging her reaction and she wanted him to know how deeply touched she was by the effort he’d made to make her feel welcome. “Really, Draco,” she continued, making a mental note of the way his eyes flashed when she said his name, “I truly appreciate it. It’s beautiful – much nicer than the one in my department – you might have difficulty getting me to leave when we’re done.” Her teasing tone was met with a shy smile and the merest huff of a laugh. She’d taken several steps closer to him as she spoke, chuckling lightly, and by the time she finished, had placed her hand on his arm without even thinking about it. She felt him stiffen, but he didn’t move away, nor did he take his eyes off of her. In fact, he seemed to be studying her face as if trying to memorize it. She let her gaze roam across his attractive features for a heartbeat or two before squeezing his arm, smiling again, and walking over to her desk where she set down an armload of files and her ever-present beaded bag, which clunked rather loudly and drew a skeptical look from the tall blonde. She snorted inwardly, knowing that someday she’d probably tell him all about that little piece of covert magic, but not quite yet.

St. Mungo’s had asked for their help in two separate, yet still connected ventures. The first regarded ways in which to cut costs associated with making the most expensive potions commonly prescribed. This involved not only looking at the various sources for ingredients, but also the possibility of using different ingredients all together. The second aspect of their project dealt with certain bits of arcane legislation dating back to the earliest days of the hospital and its relationship with the small group of potioneers who provided the necessary draughts and concoctions. Over time, new antidotes and treatments were created, and the expertise of other witches and wizards sought out, yet the regulations had never been updated or changed; something that was many, many decades, possibly even centuries overdue. As a result, Hermione was often found elbows-deep in research at her new desk, searching for anything related to the magical medical world, and the foundation upon which it had been built. After locating more than enough information to substantiate the Healer Board’s concerns, she drafted a proposal and attached it to the file containing all the pertinent information before sending it off to the legal department.

Draco initially spent the majority of his time researching potions ingredients and where St. Mungo’s typically procured their supplies from. Once Hermione’s documents had been completed, she joined him in his endeavors, and after the paper trail was complete, they turned their attention to the lab, where they set about testing different ingredients and cataloging results. Though they had worked perfectly well together since the first day, not until they were side-by-side in the lab did their compatibility truly shine. Their thoughts were on identical wavelengths, and their actions automatically tag-teamed one another’s. If he was slicing the first ingredient on the list, she was measuring the second. If she was stirring for a determined amount of time, he was preparing for the next level of brewing. They discussed their intentions in depth before starting, but once they began whatever trial they were working on, the words exchanged could be counted on one hand. So caught up in their efforts, they never noticed the amazed expressions on the faces of the others in the lab. Their work table was at the far end, closest to the floo for easy access to Draco’s office, and separated from everyone else’s by a low bookshelf, though their fluid interaction was clearly visible to all the potioneers sharing the large space.

As the days passed, their conversations often turned to things of a more personal nature. Hermione never pressed him for information, and refrained from asking pointed questions (which went directly against her insatiably curious nature), allowing him to share whatever he chose to, whenever he felt comfortable. She was an open book and by the time their second month together rolled around, she was quite sure he knew just as much about her as all her other friends, and probably a lot more than he’d ever wanted to. After one of her bouts of rambling, during which she’d told him all about the embarrassing crush she’d had on Gilderoy Lockhart as a Second Year, he laughed (with her, not at her) and sat down across from her with a rather pensive look on his face.

“I know you might not believe this, but I often wished we could have been friends in school,” he admitted in a low voice. Her brows shot up in surprise and he continued in explanation, “You were the only student even remotely close to me in marks, and I thought we would have lots to talk about.” He shrugged and his brow furrowed as he considered his next words carefully, “It didn’t take being on the losing side of a pointless war to prove that I was wrong, that everything I’d been raised to believe was wrong.” He met her gaze with a pleading look and she felt her heart constrict. “I’m sorry, Hermione. For everything. For being a bully and a prat. For making your life miserable. For being too blind and stupid to think for myself. For not stopping Bellatrix. For all of it.” His words came out haltingly, painfully, and she could see he meant every single syllable from the depths of his soul.

“I forgave you a long time ago,” she whispered as her vision blurred with unshed tears, “I would have been your friend, you know.” She gave him a wobbly smile which he received with a sharp intake of breath and a sheen to his eyes, and she leaned forward so there would be no mistaking her sincerity, “I’d like to think we’re friends now, yeah?”

He let out a slow, shuddering breath and worked to compose himself as he nodded, “Yeah.”

“Then that’s that. Better late than never,” she winked at him and was rewarded with a genuine grin from the pale wizard. It was shy and lopsided, and immediately became her favorite expression of his, one she often allowed herself to conjure in her mind before she drifted off to sleep in the nights that followed.

ooOoo

Their progress was regularly checked by various department heads and stake-holders, both from St. Mungo’s, and the Ministry alike. Minister Shacklebolt even made a few appearances, especially once rumor spread about a new discovery they had made regarding substituting Acromantula venom (which is extremely expensive and very difficult to procure) with a combination of aconite leaves and comfrey to dilute the level of toxicity present in the plant. While it wouldn’t work in every situation where the venom was called for, it was a successful replacement in the Armadillo Bile Mixture, which was commonly used by healers in the spell-damage ward. Hermione had been perfectly pleased to see Kingsley and had chatted amicably with him for several minutes before realizing her partner was nowhere to be found. She resorted to giving the Minister a small tour of their corner of the lab herself, and explained in depth what they had been working on and what they had achieved so far. He was very impressed and asked her to pass his appreciation and support on to her coworker, whenever he returned. Promising to do just that, she bade the dark-skinned wizard goodbye before returning to the task at hand.

Her mind wandered as she chopped up extra measures of daisy roots and fluxweed. She couldn’t understand where Malfoy had gone off to, but it wasn’t the first time this had happened. Just two days prior, a trio from St. Mungo’s had stopped by to check on things for themselves, and after initial introductions were made, she turned around to find herself alone in front of the expectant visitors. They’d only stayed about twenty minutes; long enough for her to explain their current trials and findings, and to give some projected expectations, all of which were received with enthusiastic gratitude. As the two board members and one healer made their way out the door, a flash of blonde hair appeared in her periphery, and she spun around to see her previously-missing coworker back behind their work table, grinding Scarab Beetles with a mortar and pestle as if he’d never left. Before she could question him, however, he’d shared a thought about an idea they’d been discussing, and she forgot all about wondering where he’d been.

She paused her deliberate knife cuts as she considered other similar scenarios. A week ago, her boss had stopped by to ask her a question about a previous assignment she’d worked on, and Malfoy had faded into the background, giving the other wizard a wide berth. The middle-aged man had nodded in the tall blonde’s direction, but no words had been exchanged. And last night the head of the potions department had wandered in on his way home, simply curious about their progress, and even though he was Malfoy’s direct supervisor, her cohort deferred most questions to her, letting her do all the talking while he remained at the far end of the table. Hermione’s brow furrowed as she realized these instances were not coincidental by any means. For whatever reason, Malfoy was intentionally absent or merely a silent bystander whenever others approached. In fact, the only individuals she’d actually seen him talk to, besides herself, were a handful of the potioneers that shared the vast laboratory with them, and only when asked a direct question. She didn’t understand it.

The object of her musings appeared a moment later, while she was deep in contemplation, her hand still poised mid-slice over the chopping board.

“You alright there, Granger?” his low voice jolted her out of her frozen reverie.

“Yes! Sorry,” she placed the knife on the table and turned to face him as he came alongside her, setting out a few more ingredients to prepare. “Where did you go?”

The slightest stiffening of his shoulders was the only indication that he’d heard the question, and it took him a second before he shrugged and answered, still wholly focused on rearranging the jars and containers he’d brought over, “I went to gather these for the next batch.”

“Because that couldn’t have waited till after Kingsley left?” she asked lightly, hoping her teasing tone might draw out more of an answer.

He shrugged again, but finally turned to meet her gaze, “I figured he’d rather speak with you anyway.”

“What? Why?” she was completely bemused, “I might be working on this project, but you’re the Potions Master here, not me. You’ve got much more experience and expertise in this area.” She gestured to the work space they shared and the evidence of their efforts.

His lips pressed into a thin line and his brow furrowed, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he looked back down at the table and nodded, “We still need Lacewing Flies and knotgrass. I’ll go grab those.” And with that, he stalked off towards the storeroom, leaving her just as confused as he’d found her.

She decided to let the topic lie for the time being, not wanting to press him for answers he clearly didn’t want to give, but she started paying closer attention to his interactions with others. What she noticed over the next several days made her heart ache. Every single time someone approached their work space, Malfoy went rigid and, if possible, backed away. When addressed directly, his answers were polite and concise, but his tone quiet and reluctant, almost as if he wasn’t sure they really wanted his response. Whenever he could, he yielded to her, indicating she should lead the discussion. In a rare moment of spontaneity, she talked him into accompanying her to the Ministry’s café for a celebratory cup of tea after another successful trial. He’d been extremely hesitant, and she’d assumed it was because he was eager to keep going with the next one, but as they made their way through the bustling halls, crowded lifts, and heavily populated atrium and cafeteria, she realized how wrong she’d been.

For all his years of pompous swagger and attention-seeking antics, the wizard beside her now seemed to be trying to disappear entirely. He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched, not making eye contact with anyone until they stepped up to the counter to order, and even then he barely spoke above a whisper to the wide-eyed witch behind the till. They sat at a table together in the corner, and he relaxed a little after looking around, and she knew he was making sure no one was watching them, staring at him. They earned a few curious glances, but nothing malicious or even remotely negative. One of her friends from the archives stopped by the table to say she’d missed seeing her, and Hermione chatted with the other witch for a few seconds before introducing her partner. Malfoy had nodded and promised not to keep her locked away in the potions lab for any longer than was absolutely necessary. Her friend chuckled lightly, said it was nice to meet him, bidding them both farewell before heading back to her office.

Seeing the tiny smirk lingering after the exchange, she decided to press her luck, “See? Not so bad, is it?” She arched a brow in jest as she watched his gaze flicker up to hers.

“What’s not?”

“Interacting with people. You seem determined to become a recluse in your corner of the Ministry,” she teased lightly.

He gave a gruff chuckle and shook his head, his gaze dropping back down to the table between them, “It’s easier to avoid people who want nothing to do with you.”

“What do you mean?” concern colored her tone.

“They might have hired me on here, but the majority of these people don’t think I deserve a job. In fact, most probably think I should be rotting away in a cell.” He stared intently at the cup of tea growing cold in front of him, “I can’t say that I blame them, so I try to inflict my presence on them as little as possible.”

She was at a loss for words, her throat having grown tight and her eyes stinging sharply, but she refused to let him continue to think this way, “Malfoy, that’s not true.” He snorted, clearly disagreeing with her, so she forged ahead, “While I’m sure there are some who refuse to give you the benefit of the doubt, there are far more who are perfectly happy to have you among us again. You don’t have to hide away or avoid people. For Merlin’s sake, if the two of us can work together so well, no one else had a leg to stand on against you!” She felt completely exasperated as she considered the fact that honestly, if anyone should harbor a grudge against the tall blonde, it should be her, but she didn’t, so everyone else could go sod off. Her cheeks were flushed with indignation on his behalf and as he finally met her eyes once more, she hoped he could see her sincerity blazing in them. He must have seen something that agreed with him, because he flashed her favorite smile before muttering something about having a Gryffindor for a friend and launching into a conversation about their latest discoveries.

His demeanor was a bit more solid as they made their way back to the lab, his shoulders a little straighter, his chin held higher, though she could tell he still avoided making eye contact with anyone. He visibly relaxed once they reached the familiar territory of their end of the workroom, and dove right back into setting up for their next round of experiments. While she was glad things had ended on a positive note, she couldn’t shake the lingering melancholy that had washed over her at his earlier admission. He didn’t deserve to think so negatively of himself and she wanted nothing more than to prove that to him.

ooOoo

One Saturday afternoon, more than three months after she’d started working with Malfoy, Hermione found herself squished between Percy and Fleur around the scrubbed wooden table in the Burrow’s kitchen. She’d stopped by for lunch, which she tried to do every few weeks, in order to catch up with her favorite magical family and spend some time with her closest friends. Everyone was present and accounted for, except for Charlie, though he was scheduled to visit at the end of the month and she made a mental note to come back while the Dragonologist was in town. He always had the most amazing stories to share, and she enjoyed picking his brain about the safest, kindest ways to procure rare yet extremely valuable resources from the giant, mythical creatures. Just the other day, she and Malfoy had been contemplating the possibility of using dragon eggshells as a substitute for aswhinder or occamy ones. Her thoughts drifted to the tall blonde as she mindlessly stirred her tea, unaware that Harry was trying to get her attention from across the table.

“Earth to Hermione,” she heard through the fog in her brain (fog that was coincidentally a very specific shade of slate grey).

“Sorry, Harry,” she shook her head and grinned, “What was that?”

“I asked how things were going with Malfoy and the St. Mungo’s project?” her messy-haired best friend repeated with a teasing smirk, but before she could answer, Percy interjected.

“Oh, are you working with him on that? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after his latest donation.” Percy had taken a position on the legal board at St. Mungo’s after the war, wanting nothing more to do with politics or the Ministry, and instead focused his considerable talents on making sure the hospital was properly funded and doing the most good for everyone in Wizarding Britain.

“What do you mean?” Hermione was curious, “What donation?”

“Oh, well, it’s not exactly public knowledge, so please don’t mention it to him, but he’s been one of our most regular benefactors for the last two years, even while he was still abroad. Monthly stipends for research, donated supplies, upgrades on the floors. Last month he gave a sizable amount to the Janus Thickey Ward, specifically to be used to aid the research and treatment surrounding long-lasting curse damage.” Percy nodded decisively, showing his approval of the gesture as he continued matter-of-factly, “About six months before that, he made an equally substantial donation to the new emergency care wing. Actually, he’s made several contributions to that, to the point that we offered to name it after him or his family, but he flatly refused the honor.”

“Why?” Harry asked, wide-eyed and with a large meat pie halfway to his mouth, “You’d think he’d want everyone to know he’d had a hand in that. The press featured the new wing in the papers for months leading up to the opening.”

Percy shrugged, “He specifically said he didn’t want anyone to know, and that we should name it for someone who deserved to be remembered. Eventually, as you well know, we settled on calling it the Nymphadora Lupin Ward.” At that, the third-eldest Weasley turned his attention to his father and struck up a conversation about Muggle hospital equipment.

Hermione had listened to every word Percy said with a steady swelling of her heart and her eyes now prickled with tears as she met a familiar emerald-green gaze across the table. Harry’s face bore a look of impressed surprise, but as he took in whatever expression was featured on her own, his brows furrowed in concern. He cocked his head the tiniest bit in the direction of the door and she nodded, both of them getting up and making their way to the back garden. Thankfully, the boisterous and busy atmosphere of the kitchen meant their departure went unnoticed, allowing them to stroll out to the sunlit lawn without interruption. Once they were several yards from the open windows, Harry stopped and turned to look at her, a question on his youthful face.

“You alright?”

Hermione nodded, biting the inside of her cheek and blinking furiously. She had no idea what had come over her, why the news of Malfoy’s assistance to the hospital had affected her so much. She didn’t know how to explain the aching combination of pride and remorse, elation and sorrow she felt over this seemingly inconsequential bit of news, but she knew her best friend expected her to at least try, so she did.

“I had no idea. Did you?” Harry shook his head, so she continued. “He’s…he’s not the same as he was when we were at school. He’s more reserved, more….careful, if that makes any sense. At first I thought it was just around me, because I’m me and…and we have such a horrid history, but I’ve seen him around other people.” She heaved a great sigh and felt several tears slip down her cheeks, “It’s like he’s constantly waiting for someone to hex him, like he’s trying to be as unnoticeable as possible. It’s obvious he still carries a whole lot of guilt and shame for everything, and I wish I could convince him he shouldn’t,” she trailed off, speaking more to herself now than to Harry. “He’s got so much to offer the world, not just financially, but his talents and abilities. At first glance, he’s this confident, reserved, businessman; which he absolutely is, but when that veneer slips, he’s completely withdrawn and unsure of himself.” The tears fell faster and she couldn’t stop the next words that slipped out, “He’s hurting, and I hate it.”

Harry drew her in for an all-encompassing hug, letting her sob until she was wrung out, knowing that the witch he loved like a sister had always had a soft spot for their childhood nemesis. When he felt like the storm had mostly subsided, he pulled back and looked directly into her red-rimmed eyes.

“You are probably one of the only people to see, truly see, what’s going on beneath the surface with Malfoy, and if anyone can help him, it’s you.”

She appreciated the kind words, even though she severely doubted Malfoy would ever let her help him with anything beyond the scope of research and potion brewing, but she nodded and hugged Harry again before they returned to the crowded kitchen and never-ending buffet of Molly’s wonderful cooking. As Hermione settled back in, she resolved to keep doing what she’d been doing with regards to her coworker, and hopefully with a little time and consistent effort, he’d start to see himself the same way she did.

ooOoo

Most mornings the unlikely duo were the first to arrive for the work day, eager to start the latest trial, and many evenings they were the last to leave, not wanting to quit before every note had been taken, every finding recorded, and every possibility discussed before moving on to the next one. Hermione found herself drawn to the quietly witty, extremely handsome, unquestionably brilliant wizard more and more as each day passed. She enjoyed his dry sense of humor and reveled in the moments when she sensed he let his carefully-controlled façade relax in her presence. It was happening more frequently of late, and she couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, he was drawn to her, too. Working in such close proximity meant there were often instances when their hands touched, or their arms brushed, or they bumped into each other when scooting around to grab something, and every time she felt a shiver or a spark ignite wherever they’d made contact. She thought she did a marvelous job of hiding how much it affected her, but luck has a way of running out when least expected.

It was one of those late evenings, after everyone had already left for the day and she was leaning over a cauldron, trying to determine whether the thickening substance was more of a mint green or a seafoam when she thought she smelled something burning and glanced around. Unfortunately, she was correct. In her singularly focused state, she had let her clipboard full of notes slide too close to the open flame under the wrought iron basin and it had caught on fire. In an attempt to move it away quickly and salvage the documents, she pushed the clipboard aside with her hand, and her sleeve ignited. Before the shriek had even completely left her lips, Draco was there, bellowing an _Augamenti_ and reaching for her arm. The small flame was immediately doused, leaving behind a scorched and soaked set of papers, and a rather singed and tattered cuff of silk around her mildly pink wrist.

“Granger, are you okay?” Draco’s chest was heaving, his eyes piercing and harsh, and his jaw was visibly clenched, but the hand that cradled her own was incredibly gentle.

“Yes,” she took a deep, calming breath, the only sensation registering being the tingling warmth where his skin was pressed to hers, “I’m fine. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and I ruined the notes.” She stumbled over her words while fighting the urge to fling herself into his arms, and gestured forlornly with her other hand at the sopping, ink-streaked mess that used to contain her precise script.

“I don’t care about the notes,” his voice was terse and she met his gaze, confused as to why he looked furious if he didn’t care about the destroyed information, but he continued on and answered her unspoken queries. “I only care that you’re okay,” he admitted quietly, dropping his eyes to her wrist and turning it over to check for further injury before casting cooling and healing charms.

She felt her jaw go slack and knew she must look like a gaping fish, but thankfully he was studiously avoiding looking at her while he continued to repair her shirtsleeve. By the time he finished, she’d composed her chaotic thoughts and calmed her racing heart enough to meet his reluctant gaze head on.

“Thank you,” she said softly. He nodded and shifted as if he intended to step away, but she grabbed his hand, forcing him to stay put. His expression was guarded as she closed the tiny distance between them, her gold-flecked eyes flickering between his steel-grey ones as she battled with the two halves of her brain. The logical, self-preserving side told her to let him go and leave it at that, but the much louder, much more insistent side pushed her to follow through with something she’d been dreaming about for weeks on end. For as much as she felt like a pyre had been lit within, and that she’d melt to a fiery puddle right there on the floor, he seemed frozen solid. He hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d stepped into his personal space, his stare fixed on her, his breathing barely noticeable. His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to let her know where his thoughts were and she took the opening without a second thought. Rising up on tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his in a whisper of a kiss, lingering just long enough to make sure he’d know she meant it. When she sank back down to her heels, they stared at each other for a breathless few seconds before he leaned in and captured her lips in a more insistent kiss. Her arms wound up and around his neck, and she ran her fingers through the silken strands of hair above his collar. His hands gripped her waist and pulled her to him as close as he possibly could before one arm slid around her, and the other made its way up her back so he could bury his fingers in her glossy curls.

An indeterminate amount of time went by as they explored one another in a way neither had expected to when they’d arrived at the lab hours earlier, but both welcomed with every fiber of their beings. Hermione was lost in the safety and comfort she felt being wrapped in his embrace, her knees weak from the intoxicating way his tongue danced with hers. She let out the tiniest moan and all of a sudden he broke the kiss and stumbled back, holding her at arm’s length.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, eyes wide and anxious, “I shouldn’t have… We shouldn’t… You don’t,”

“Draco, stop,” she demanded and his mouth snapped shut with an audible click. She took a step towards him and saw him stiffen, his spine went rigid and his jaw clenched. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

A harsh, mirthless laugh burst from him as a pained expression flitted across his face before he schooled his features into a smooth mask once again, “I’m quite certain I have a great deal to apologize for. This is simply just the latest transgression on an immeasurably long list.” He was trying to remain aloof and distant, but she could see the hurt and shame swirling in his pewter eyes and it made her heart squeeze painfully.

“No,” she shook her head, pinning him with a fierce and unflinching gaze, “You have done enough, said enough, apologized enough, it’s time to move on and stop letting your past dictate what future you reach for.” She took another step towards him and saw his façade waver.

“You…you don’t understand,” he huffed a dejected breath but still met her chocolate stare with a pleading intensity that made it hard for her to breathe. “You don’t want…” his words trailed off again as he turned away from her, rubbing one hand across the back of his neck, his shoulders slumped.

While part of her hurt to see him like this, another part of her flared with anger, “And just who are you, exactly, to tell me what I want?” she demanded, her tone harsher than she’d intended but the question remained. She heard him give a low chuckle, which just raised her ire and she planted her hands on her hips, waiting for him to turn back around and answer her. When he did, the lopsided smile that graced his features was sad and defeated.

“You know who I am,” he said in a quiet voice, “I’m the bully who made your school years miserable. I’m the accomplice who let Death Eaters into the castle and who almost killed Dumbledore. I’m the coward who stood by and watched you get tortured in my family’s house. I’m the acquitted criminal people would rather cross the street from than share a sidewalk with.” He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the floor between them, “I’m not someone you should want to be with, no matter how much I might wish for it.” The last part was mumbled low enough that she almost didn’t hear it, which she was sure had been intentional.

The silence hung heavy between them for several heartbeats while she tried to marshal her thoughts and stem the flood of tears that had been building with each condemning statement he’d made. The fact that he harbored feelings towards her bolstered her confidence and sent her heart soaring, regardless of the somber tone the words were spoken in. He had no idea, none at all, and she knew she had one chance to make him understand.

“You’re right,” she said softly and her breath hitched as she watched his countenance sink further, “The person you just described is not someone I would want to be with. But that isn’t who I see in front of me.” She took another step in his direction and now they were little more than a foot apart. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his arm, right over the spot where she knew the faded Dark Mark still existed. He flinched slightly but didn’t move, though he still refused to look at her, the muscles in his jaw working furiously as he stared at the ground.

“The man I’m looking at is a brilliant potioneer who works tirelessly to get the answers he needs. He’s a loving and loyal son who would do anything to protect his family. He is a generous benefactor, even though he doesn’t want people to know about all the good he’s doing,” she paused for a moment and watched as his expression softened the tiniest bit and his gaze flickered up to hers. “He’s funny, and thoughtful, and compassionate. He puts up with my obsessive habits and my stubborn streak with more patience than all of my other friends combined. He admits his mistakes and is doing everything he can to atone for them, which far outweighs the original deeds in my book,” the tears she’d been trying to hold back were coursing down her cheeks now but she didn’t care. She needed him to hear her, needed him to believe what she was saying, and if that meant waterworks were included, so be it.

She took one final step, only inches between them now, and placed her other hand on his chest where she could feel the rapid pounding of his heart through his oxford. He did look at her fully then, his slate-grey eyes boring into her own as a mixture of regret and disbelief was displayed in their depths. The hand resting on his arm drifted down and she interlaced their fingers before gathering up all her courage.

“The man I’m looking at is someone I respect, and admire, and trust with every fiber of my being. People might not understand or agree with my choice, but I don’t really care because it’s mine to make, and I love him,” her voice cracked a little at the end and she held her breath as his eyes widened at her final admission. “I love _you_ ,” she whispered as more tears fell, and he brought his free hand to her face, using his thumb to wipe them away while staring at her in complete amazement.

“Hermione,” he choked out, but instead of trying to formulate words he simply pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapped around her tightly, his face buried in her curls. She pressed her cheek to his chest and wound her arms around his waist as she tried to stifle the random hiccups that accompanied her crying jag.

They stood like that until her tears had dried and they were both able to breathe normally again, and with his voice muffled in the crook of her neck, Draco broke the quiet between them.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to be gifted this chance, but I promise you, I will never take it for granted,” he pulled back and cupped her face with his hands, peering intently into her warm brown eyes, still a little glassy, but sparkling with joy. “I don’t deserve you. I will never deserve you,” he pressed a finger gently to her lips as he saw her about to protest, “That’s something you won’t convince me of otherwise. But I will spend every day telling you, showing you, proving to you, how much I love you, for as long as you’ll let me.” The depth of emotion swirling in his pewter gaze took her breath away and it required an excessive amount of brain power for her to string even a few words together as she lost herself to the fact that he’d said he loved her, too.

“I’ll always let you,” she whispered before fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him back in for another longer, world-shifting, completely fascinating kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> More fluff and nonsense featuring my favorite fictional couple :) Thanks so much for reading - I truly appreciate each one of you!


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